Purgatory Boys
by harponMOO
Summary: Arthur Kirkland did not stick fingers down his throat. He did not force it to come up in chunks and spews. He resisted. He had control, not regret, not remorse, not afterthought. But Alfred is just trying to help, you can't push everyone away. AU Us/Anorexic!UK Eating disorder and mentions of squeamish things.
1. The Beginning

Arthur Kirkland was not an idiot. He saw his days stretched before him like blank snow, ready to be tainted and bloodied. He also saw Alfred F. Jones giving him a look. _The_ look[_so painfully curious, stop it!_]

It repulsed and intrigued him in equal parts until he ended up focusing on a small crevice in the neck of the boy in front of him, not daring to move his eyes off the safe haven of clueless flesh.

_Why would he be giving me that look? _Arthur busied himself by writing down his homework and colour-coding his notes to maximise efficient study time. Alfred used to ask Arthur how he could be such a good student, but learning is easy if you aren't stuffing food down your face for half of your waking hours.

"Tomorrow I'll discuss the project in more detail-" The bell dismissed the class and everyone hurried out. It appeared Alfred wanted to stay behind and talk to Arthur. Arthur followed the crowd. It was noisy in the hallway, teenagers scattering like rats in the daytime as they searched for their friends in the lunch line.

Arthur hated lunch more than he hated the dinner table- _confrontation_. He stood in line, waiting, letting people pass him, drawing out his time like an endless string. _It can wait, it can wait, it can wait. _

"Hey, Artie, how you've been doin'?" Of course. Of course he had to be behind him. The whole fucking baseball team loomed over Arthur now, jeering at Alfred and smirking as the sunny blond tried to push them away with an easy-going smile on his face.

"Good luck," a tall, white haired boy winked lewdly at Alfred before the whole team cut some underclassmen and left the boys alone.

"We aren't doing this, Alfred." He saw the smile die; the hopeful eyes became cloudy with desperation.

"Why the hell not?" If Alfred was angrier it would've been a threat, but it was a plea. "You can't just ignore me forever."

Arthur turned to the front of the line, moving forward as a few more kids were admitted into the cafeteria.

_Don't talk. Don't say anything. Don't breathe. _Instead, Arthur placed a hand on his wrist and felt around for the bone. _Encouragement. You've come far. _

The lights in the room were too bright, and he squinted as he searched around for something edible. It was crowded, people laughing and dumping fries on to their plates, cheering as someone fell into the soda stand.

_Chocolate milk- 160 calories. No. Too much_. He wanted the milk though. _No dinner, then. Breakfast tomorrow-toast. Whole wheat. No, carbs go straight to my stomach. No breakfast- tea? _He saw Alfred piling food on his cheap paper plate - flimsy and soaked with ketchup and oil. Three burgers, two containers of fries, _and_ an order of fried mozzarella sticks, overcooked and oozing with cheese.

Well, that was certainly too much. How could he maintain a figure like that? If Arthur wanted to have a body like that, he'd have to make some serious cut backs. Exercise more often- and Arthur really didn't feel like doing that. So he just clutched his milk tighter, mentally declared Alfred a _pig_, and sat down.

Arthur used to have plenty of friends, well more like acquaintances, but hell, it was _somebody_. Now he sat at a table of strangers, each giving shifty eyed glances and hoping that someone would breach the walls of general detest and speak up.

He kept his gaze on Alfred, how he laughed and patted his friends on the back. _Touching, touchy. _Arthur's old friend, Kiku, politely sat with them. Arthur remembered when he introduced the two. They hadn't really been good friends at first, casual and stiff in their interactions. Now look at them. Kiku was nodding at sport jokes even though he didn't understand them. Face turning a delicate pink as the subject shifted to girls. Alfred _definitely_ knew about that, didn't he? Their whole table looked over at Katashuya and her friends.

Alfred seemed entranced by the quiet girl who also sat at the table. She was so _thin, thin, thin,_ and brilliantly nice. So in control of herself with small smiles and bright green eyes. Arthur used to have bright green eyes, too. Now they were faded and lacklustre, bored and worried and betrayed.

The minutes ticked by, and Arthur grew stronger. If he could make it past lunch without opening his milk, then he would have the control he desired. But it was taunting him, drops of condensation teasingly running down the side and pooling on the table. It formed an unspeakable ocean between him and his temptation. He knew he was just weak and worthless. Why did he even need to buy it? It was too much.

Yet, this was a battle he could win. He did not have to peel back the soft, paper flap on the carton. He would leave it to condense away, sail far on the sea it was creating.

Students began to stand up, grabbing their trash in clenched hands, _greedy, greedy, greedy. _Arthur stood up. He grabbed his milk and headed towards the rubbish bin, tossing it away heartlessly. _Dinner? Maybe, now._ He was craving cheesy, scrambled eggs and toast, but _no no no _toast. _Eggs? No cheese. Egg whites and green peppers. _

His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he ventured too far off. He had been too secure with Alfred. Too in love. Then he was dumped like trash because that was what he ate. He would gobble down waffles and pancakes, slurp up ice cream, dripping, sticky on his fingers. Licking those off too- so greedy. He'd even eat fast food, overlooking the grease. God, he was _disgusting_.

Arthur's next class was physics. He was awful at it, but with his newfound free time, he was almost surpassing Alfred- not because of interest, but because of dedication. Addiction to succeed. To not be worthless and unattractive. He wanted a smooth, flat stomach. Not that little, tiny, _huge_, bump of fat he'd acquired over the past few love-struck months.

"Turn in your assignment, take out the notes we left off on." Arthur flipped open his binder, grabbing the crisp sheets of paper and a sharpened pencil.

Taking down definitions was easy. _The peak value of an alternating quantity in either the positive or negative direction. The body whose surface absorbs all radiations incident on it and thus neither reflects nor transmits any radiation._

Arthur was a blackbody. He wasn't warm anymore. Didn't give off anything. Absorbing everything. _Taking, taking, taking_ in too much. Class ended. His hand was sore and his paper was full of things he wasn't sure about. His eyes were quicker than his mind, and he'd ventured off into dangerous charts He was on a boat, lost at sea with the chocolate milk that was _too_ much.

One more class. Then, home. _Sleep, rest, relax. _**Homework**. No dreams, Arthur hates those. He couldn't even control his mind. How pathetic.

Arthur's last class was an elective. He had chosen it just to be in another class with Alfred. _How dumb, how stupid, _**idiotic**.

Arthur felt so heavy, a little dizzy, but heavy all the same. His feet were weighted and wrong as he clobbered towards his locker. No one dared to get close to him; he looked upset. Then again he always looked upset now. Perpetually frowning, deep in thought. He used to be more open. Not friendly, but open. Like an old book, worn and familiar and comforting. Now he is just the mean librarian that hunches over it, protecting the book as if it was a child.

Finally, he was there. He took his seat next to his ex…ex-something. Right over his heart is an X so _it had to mean something, it had to, had to._ The soft kisses and warm embraces. Smiles, so many smiles - tender moments, arguments, storming away, letting the rain wash over his face to persuade unshed tears and draw them out.

_Thinking too much. You're thinking too much. _Alfred wasn't thinking of him at all. He was thinking of slim-waisted girls, not _greedy, greedy, greedy_ bastards. Always taking_ never, ever_ giving.

"Can't ignore me here, can ya?" No, he'd been ignoring Alfred for weeks. This was the easy part.

"Okay everyone, we've got a guest speaker today." Cue the time to start tuning out.

Arthur pulled out some assignment meant for home and finished it. Lots of time left. The small hand raced the hour, a premeditated murder of minutes.

Alfred was breathing over his neck, sucking up his air selfishly. Arthur's hand was grabbed and a white, crumpled paper was thrust into it.

**why do ya look so scared all da time? **

_He didn't. He didn't_. Arthur was not scared of anything other than control. He was not afraid of Alfred, with his broken promises and shattered hopes- like glass, _so fragile like glass_.

He ripped the paper into well-thought out shreds. Creating a suspicious noise but not caring anymore. The white pieces scattered like snow, covering the dirty linoleum. He sent a glare back as a response. Sucking in his fat, fleshy cheeks to nibble on the insides. Draw out the raw tingle and blood. Kept his mouth closed and his eyes clear.

He didn't know what else to do. The classroom was small, but he sat in the back. Ahead of him was the blonde bob of the girl he had grown to despise. She was too nice and delicate. Arthur remembered when he was delicate. _Never nice. _

His stomach growled again, loud enough for Alfred to hear. Only Alfred, though. It was still a secret, tucked away under baggy sweaters and layers.

Alfred tried again, sliding a note smoothly across the table top.

**why didnt ya eat today? sick?**

Arthur was bored. Just bored, not yearning. He responded.

**Yes. **

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. Arthur had no self-control. Worthless. _Can't even hold my tongue- fingers- brain. _

Only a few more days and the want will go away. The growls will lapse into silence, and the struggle will become pleasure. He loved feeling empty and clear. Like air could just flow through him, uninhibited. No obstacles. Just bone stretched tight to make up for no flesh.

He clenched his hand and felt his resolve slipping through it. He could hardly control himself with Alfred, obviously. He couldn't control his father's drinking or his mother's absence. He couldn't control his brothers' teasing, and beating, and leaving. But, he could control himself. _Barely_. The marionette was missing some strings, but it still danced along.

**can we talk? will you talk to me? **Desperate scrawls.

Arthur read it, wanted to nod. His head longed to nod. Ached to. Then he smoothed down his shirt and felt the sad incline of...skin. It stuck out way too much. He isn't flat. He wanted to mirror a board. Instead he was like a river, overflowed and wide. Bloated with gluttony. He crumpled the paper and stuck it into his folder.

He could see Alfred digging around in his deep pockets for more scraps to write on. But the end of the day came, and Arthur left without a goodbye.

He couldn't afford a car. It didn't used to be a big deal, because Alfred was close by and they'd ride home together the way best friends do. Then love and his whore friends got in the way and tangled with the wires of Arthur's heart and head. So now, he took the bus home with the underclassmen. With the kids who were too young to drive, or too poor to.

The ride was long and bumpy. _Highlight: You are sitting alone. _

His stomach was going crazy, two weeks with little more than [_tea, tea, tea, tea, apple, twelve red bell pepper slices, two and a half scones, ten long, green celery sticks_ that tasted like dew in his mouth] 766 calories. _That number is too high. Too large, too ugly. No self control. _

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He slid it out, expecting a text from his father; **don't wait up.**

No; instead, it was from the pesky, sunny, lovely [_no self control_] American.

**dont worry, ill help u get betta**

His fingers twitched to respond. He pulled the strings back sharply, felt one break. It fell to the ground and curled around him. **Why?**

_No self-control. _

* * *

Arthur Kirkland found it very hard to sleep. His mind liked to play funny jokes on him, replaying the memories- editing the sad parts until it's just a continual stream of happy. _Funny joke. _He was semi-aware of the dangerous path he was walking down again, leaving health and friendship behind like clots of dirt in trainers.

It was a path that had always been there, since he was small and weak and hopeful. To when he was in love [_so in love_] and warm and happy. He veered off the path. Saw what life _could_ be like. Only to have it snatched away so quickly, just because he couldn't control himself. Even Pandora got a second chance at love.

It was silent and dark as Arthur thought of all these things.

"Don't worry; I'll be your hero!" _I don't need a hero._ "Why are you sad? I'll fix ya right up!" _I don't need to be fixed._ "You can count on me." "You can trust me, for real." "I'll be there for yoou-" [_stop singing, you bloody twit_].

_No, no, no. _

He believed it. He had believed it and now he was alone and starving and he _knew it_ but he didn't _stop it_ and that was the point.

"Do you think you're better than everyone else?" _Yes, yes. I can control myself. Watch. _

Arthur Kirkland did not stick fingers down his throat. He did not force it to come up in chunks and spews. He resisted. He had _control_, not regret, not remorse, not afterthought.

A shiver ran through him, and he snuggled into his blanket and pretended that he didn't feel his stomach rolling over- _so large, so...tangible_.

He knew he wasn't handsome. But maybe if he was just a bit more jaw dropping, then it wouldn't have mattered. It wouldn't have come down to sticks and stones. Maybe if he was a bit stronger and didn't need Alfred so much. Didn't smother him.

The blankets were the only thing smothering now. He got out of bed, not sure what to do. His feet led him to the small bathroom across the hall that he and his youngest brother shared.

The counter was child-proof. No razors, rounded edges. Bubble gum toothpaste was smeared across the top like blood, and Arthur wiped it off with his palm then rinsed his hand off with cool water.

He stared at the mirror. Blinked twice. He slowly pulled up his shirt, staring at the protruding stomach. Is it a trick of the light? He turned, watched the smooth skin stretch over his pant line. Just barely, but it was there. He wrapped a hand around his hip and squeezed the extra fat. He couldn't even see his hipbones.

He felt dead, he couldn't be alive. He double checked on the scale. 8 stones and a few pounds. He wasn't tall. Not tall at all [_not short, either_]. That was a lot. He felt heavy; it felt like there were eight rocks in his stomach, weighing him down as he sank to the bottom of the chocolate milk sea.

Arthur had a new goal,_ 7 stones flat,_ flat like a tossing rock. Just try harder. Venture down to the dark basement and spend some time with the treadmill. Start jogging again.

Stop obsessing. Crawl back into bed, slip under the covers and let them strangle him to death.

The next morning was a slow ordeal. First, it started with talking.

"Good mornin', dad." He pushed it out of his mouth, forcing a casual tone.

"What do you think about a trip this weekend? You can bring that boyfriend of yours." Sunny smile. Too familiar, [_but_ _Alfred's is far brighter_].

"Maybe, I'll ask. He might be busy with sports and such." Arthur hadn't told them yet, told them that his heart had been broken _seventeen days, twenty one hours, and a few minutes ago_. It was the way it ended that stung. Alfred had been Arthur's best friend - only friend, really. A few others conversed with him, but every second it had been _Alfred, Alfred, Alfred. _

If he had just resisted, they still could have had a friendship, shaken, sure, but mutual want was a real bitch. It would've been better than the crumbled pieces they had now.

"Arthur, what's on your mind?" He glanced over at his dad, saw his clear eyes. Not bloodshot, for once. He was curious and worried. Things fathers should be.

"I'm fine," He lied anyway. For that, he could only blame himself.

Arthur got up from his bed, feeling anything but well-rested. "Well, make sure you ask Alfred." His dad grunted as he picked himself, dusting off his pants. Then he left.

Arthur took a shower. Very warm, warm enough to burn off his skin. He liked it that way, it felt as if you could sweat off weight. Brushed his teeth, his hair, and the sleep out of his eyes.

Layers were important. For now, it hid the fat, but soon it would hide the progress. Today was a button down day, with folded grey sleeves and a tawny waistcoat. Naturally oversized, because they were secondhand from his older, larger brothers. Dark slacks and he was ready, but he stayed in his room for twelve extra minutes so he could use being late as an excuse to skip breakfast.

His dad will throw away the toast [_that I've been craving, craving, craving_] and cover the eggs in plastic wrap and stick it in the refrigerator for Arthur to eat later. Of course, Arthur will just push the too-yellow clumps down the disposal.

Deceit was as commonplace as smiling in the Kirkland family, and his father would not be hypocritical about it, lest he be called out on the whiskey in the apple juice bottle, or the vodka in the soda can. So when Arthur stumbled down the carpeted steps, his father just wished him a good day.

The bus wasn't so bad in the morning. Most of the people were catching up on the sleep they missed staying up late to message their friends. Arthur would know; he used to do that kind of thing. It stopped, and more children flooded in, cramming into seats like pack rats. A kid with a bright red, runny nose sat next to Arthur.

He sniffled, sucking in snot and trying to be polite. His winter hat's pom-poms bob prematurely as the bus starts again.

"Bit old to be riding the bus?" The kid inquired after a few moments of silence.

Arthur sighed loudly, then shifted around in his seat so he didn't have to look at the kid's honey hair and eager eyes. Too much.

He didn't feel hungry today; he told himself today would be a good day, no more hurt, pain, or feelings of rejection. Enough of that nonsense. He was brave and in control. He was cleverer than the whole lot of teens filling the building.

He was a star in his own way.

He hurt, sure. But he could overcome that in a snap. A snap of bone, of will, of morale.

No, a snap of sanity. Bordering the bridge of no return, and still, hopping around indecisively. It's an easy decision.

"Eyebrows!" He turned his head and is soon looking up at the school's most popular [_i.e., only_] albino. Arthur was too smart to respond, and twisted the numbers into his locker and watches it open magically.

"Think you're too awesome to answer?" Gilbert laughed, as if it was all a joke, or a dream. _A sweet dream fading away from reality and consequences. _

Arthur grabbed his books for his first few classes, heaving a bit under the heaviness.

"Here, I'll carry those for ya, it's not awesome at all to watch weaklings struggle." Gilbert puffed out his chest and snatched the stack away, leaving Arthur irritated and wondering. Surely, this could not be an act of kindness.

And it isn't. Gilbert walked a few more steps, before leaning casually against a wall. Arthur noticed but it was too late. He dropped the books into the old cafeteria dumpster and dashed off to avoid_ the infamous Arthur Kirkland wrath_.

He couldn't just leave the books there, so he fished around for them and ended up late and dirty. People could smell the old, moulding food on his hands and clothes, and kept their distance even more than normal. Even Alfred commented on it.

"Dude, did someone barf on you?" Arthur grimaced, and tried not to let it bother him.

He couldn't.

"No, your fucking _prat_ of a friend threw my books into the _trash_. And I _couldn't_ just leave them!" Alfred stiffened, but didn't reply. He looked away toward the sun; it was blinding and nice and neither of them were thinking about much until the teacher called out.

"-and I'll be assigning partners. If you don't share a study hall, outside time may need to be invested." The teacher looked at a long list of confusing-to-pronounce last names and sighed. He didn't want to attempt the moody blond boy up front's last name.

"The person you're sitting next to is your partner." Arthur quickly looked to his left, hoping he could get out of working with Alfred.

No.

No one was to his left; he sat at the edge of the room.

"Guess we're gonna be partners." Right then, Arthur wanted to tell him what his father said. Invite him to spend a weekend together like they used to when the days seemed much shorter and the nights brighter. But he didn't. He was nothing without control.

_I suppose we are. _Arthur made a point not to look at Alfred. He didn't even know what the assignment was, but like hell he'll ask that smiling jerk. Arthur will just stay behind and ask the teacher, then do the work himself and turn it in without so much as a single word to Alfred. Yes, that could work.

"Do you wanna come over after school? Ma misses you." It wasn't subtle. It was forced and his lips were dry and cracked. Maybe he missed Arthur the way Arthur missed...no, _misses_ him.

"I can't. I have things to do." Arthur was still looking away because Alfred is too handsome right now. He didn't want to be selfish but if he looked into those blue eyes he was going to want them all for himself._ Greedy, greedy, greedy. _

It was Friday. The word twisted around and poked holes in Arthur's mind. A month ago, he could promise you Fridays would be spent in Alfred's lap, sharing a carton of sweet cookie dough ice cream [_450 calories, sickeningly too much_] and arguing over what movie to see the following night. It always came down to super heroes versus the artistic documentary. A slow kiss and a hand job and the choice was Arthur's.

Now Friday's were spent finishing up homework, doing a few sit ups, and sleeping. If you went to bed hungry, you woke up feeling _so good, so good, so good. _

"What disorder would you like to do?" Arthur asked after _figuring out what the task is_.

This time Alfred played the blushing virgin, and didn't meet Arthur's intense, forceful gaze.

"How about avoidant personality disorder? We went over it last week." It was soft and worried and Arthur chewed the words carefully, thinking of what to say. Of course he knew how Arthur was. Before Alfred, he was just a clam, but the caring words of another pried him open and dried him off.

"Fine."

They didn't talk for the rest of the class.

Lunch was the same, an internal battle, this time easily won. _Small skim milk _[_120 calories_]_, dinner- bell pepper _[_46 calories_]_. No snacking. No skim milk, toast for dinner_[_138, all carbs and calories_]_, still no snacking. _Arthur pretended he was out of money and sat down without the milk.

One kid at his table opened his mouth and Arthur thought for a moment that he was going to say something. But it was just a slow motion, open-mouthed sneeze and nothing more.

He watched Alfred still, wondering how the airhead knew he didn't eat lunch yesterday. He stared at the mop of wheat hair in front of him, willing him to turn around.

_Do you feel my eyes? Do you? Are you just ignoring me? Ignoring my… wants. No I don't want _**you**_. _

Blue eyes snapped back, almost too fast but Arthur managed to look away. He could see the American boy frowning [_probably at my lack of food_], but he didn't do anything. Didn't come over and tell him he's worth something. So the game continues.

It was strange; Arthur was sure that soon, he'll look like a skeleton, but he'll feel so complete when he does so.

It's all about control really. To be able to have what you want and still deny yourself of it. It may be sick, or wrong, but it helped heal wounds and filled gaping holes with hunger before it painted over those with misty indifference as well.

_I don't want to be ugly and fat, not anymore._ He almost felt like taking a razor to his eyebrows, to his hair, to his wrists. But he didn't, won't ever, really. It was enough to be in charge of weight. _Soon, soon, soon,_ he'll get to the point where he'll be happy and so tiny and small that he can just wrap his hands around his waist in a complete circle. A small smile graced his fat face.

He felt it before he saw it. Alfred stomping over to him and pulling him aside- outside the cafeteria and into the empty halls.

"Just what the hell is this?" He slammed Arthur against a wall,_ so angry, so mad, so hurt. _

"I don't know what you're talking about, now if you'd please release me-" Arthur replied coollyand curtly, taking the victory in stride. Alfred _obviously_ had no self-control. Sad, really.

"Don't pull that shit with me, not right now." Arthur didn't understand why the other is so mad. Why he was being so selfish right now. Honestly, Arthur could be doing so many other things.

But still, his blue eyes smouldered and he continued. "Why aren't you eating? Why do you feel like-" Alfred paused, trying to find the words through the anger, placing a hand against Arthur's lumpy stomach. "Like a ghost." Irony is a crafty son. Alfred was never fond of ghosts.

"Do I now? Why aren't you _trembling_?" Arthur was just teasing, trying to rile up the American. It didn't work; he was too focused and angry.

"I said no more shit! When was the last time you ate?" Alfred's tight lips said '_don't you lie to me_'.

"This morning, I had a _rather_ _large_ breakfast, now if you'd just let go-" He was dropped back on the ground, feeling pain in his lower back. He wasn't surprised.

Arthur didn't go back to the cafeteria; nothing was waiting for him there.

* * *

AN: Hey guys, thanks for reading. Feedback is always encouraged :) Beta'd by the awesome RamenNoodlesXD and the fantastic Semebay, but any remaining mistakes are my own fault.


	2. The Ending

It was Friday, and Arthur lay in a mess of sheets and tried to sleep. He didn't have the energy to finish his homework, so he went to bed after leaving messy trails of proof that he had dinner. Sure, he had two cold sips of water [_a refreshing 0 calories_]. The dirty dish was from his eggs and the sprinkle of granola on the countertop was just for show.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in." He faked a tired groan.

"Alfred is downstairs, mentioned a group project." His dad was giving him a chance out, a despairing look, a few choice words. Arthur grabbed at it desperately.

"Tell him I'm resting."

"Okay, but it doesn't look like he'll take no for an answer." It was a warning, right? _Get out, get out, get out._Jump through a window, hide under your bed.

He didn't have time. The door opened and someone stepped in, but he was still in bed, thinking.

"Arthur, come over, please?" It didn't make any sense. Why was he here, why was he acting like things weren't any different? Like eighteen days [_and_ _ten hours, twenty minutes_] ago was just another day. Like he still cared about Arthur.

"I'll do the project myself; now get out of my room." He slipped, he wasn't showing control. He was showing _anger, sorrow, regret_. How weak.

"Your dad said you didn't eat breakfast. You lied!" The accusation was childish. There was no need for it, because the moment he said he had eaten, they both knew it wasn't true.

Arthur didn't say anything, just closed his eyes and wished Alfred away. _If Alfred leaves, two pieces of thin wheat toast_[_138 calories_]_. If he doesn't, low carb peach yogurt._[_80 calories_]_._

"I'm not leaving unless you leave with me." _Well, you're shit out of luck, then._

"I am going to sleep, and you are going to leave. Now." Arthur warned, opening his eyes and ending his charade just to glare.

Alfred saw it as a challenge, and accepted, _waiting, waiting, waiting._ Two steps closer, the edge of the bed brushed against his saggy jeans.

"Come any closer and I'll scream." Arthur hissed, scooting towards the far side of his bed. Why was he acting like scared child? Why was he replying? _No control_. No fucking control.

His mouth was covered with a warm, tanned hand. He bit the fingers, the palm, trying to get it to move away. A muffled groan.

"What are you doing to yourself?" Alfred searched green eyes for an answer, because a verbal one obviously wasn't coming.

Arthur rolled over, the hand gone from his mouth. He ran to the bathroom- safe, cold tiles. Pounds on the door, it was shaking under the scrutiny of anger.

"Arthur! Open it! I'm going to help you," Arthur didn't say anything, walked over to the bath, and sat in it._Dry, dry mouth, dry eyes._

He fell asleep in the cool marble tub. No dreams, of course. Just a lack of consciousness, and memories. Sometimes memories were worse than dreams. This one started off slow, the first time he met Alfred. They were kids, babies compared to who they were now.

Arthur scowling, glaring at the new kid. "Hi! Be my _fwend_ 'cuz you _tawk_ so coo'!" Blue eyes pleaded, crystal clear and eager. Alfred could've been anyone's friend. Why would he be Arthur's? It was fishy. He didn't trust it.

"My ma says when I get a _fwend_, they can come ove-_ah_, 'cuz I don't have _fwends_ _w_ight now." It was cute; he couldn't grab hold of his r's the right way, in that inexperienced, young mouth. Arthur grinned, charmed.

"I don't have friends either," He looked over at Francis. No, he wasn't a friend. He was an enemy, a worst enemy.

That was how it started, innocent. Nothing like the ending, and because he was asleep, the ending came directly after. Skipping the slow beginning, the confession, the sweet moments. Things Arthur could think about in the daylight.

"Alfred, where are you?" A phone call, not even in person. Noise in the background on the other line, a cheer, sounds of music. _Too much._

"At a party," the duh is barely missed, and then the call cut off, unless it was meant to be _dropped, dropped, dropped._Hung up on like an over-protective mother. Pesky.

Arthur gave him room to breathe, like a baggy sweatshirt. Didn't want to crowd or pressure him. But he felt bad, and lonely. He didn't like parties though. He told Alfred that, and stopped getting invited to them. But still...maybe that was the beginning of the end.

The insecurity. The distrust. What was he doing? Was he cheating? He was. Call again? Dropped like an old toy.

Next scene.

Arthur was sitting in Alfred's lap, the American's lips pressed to his neck,_biting, claiming, marking_. A book was propped in his hands, reading the words.

"Do you only like me for the sex?" Arthur complained, digging his elbow in Alfred's side, laughing a bit and squirming away.

"Nah, if it was only for, yah know, _that stuff,_ I'd be with someone else." Wrong thing to say. They both realised this, and Alfred opened his mouth to correct himself, to rise from the grave he dug without too much collateral damage.

"I know what you mean," Arthur waved his hand, dismissing it. He knew his looks weren't the best, that Alfred could do better. He stared down at his stomach. Not so bad, just not the six-pack his boyfriend carried. His body wasn't meant for hard muscles, so_maybe, maybe, maybe_ he should lose some weight. Go for the lean, nice look?

"Good, because you're perfect to me." The lie was normal, and Arthur was too used to it for it to make an impact.

It changed again, and now they were outside. The final act. It was getting colder. Almost fall, October creeping up on them.

"Arthur! You can't friggin' control me," Alfred shouted, drawing a crowd. _Anywhere but here_. Arthur didn't like big scenes. But he wasn't going to back down.

"I am not trying to control you, you bleeding git! I just asked what you were doing last night." His eyes hurt. Things were spinning away, regardless of his command. He didn't know so many things, it hurt. He saw the raw, red bump on Alfred's lower neck, his jacket slipping a bit. He wouldn't mention it, they should both know.

"I was out with friends, god. You don't like people so I didn't invite you. Shouldn't you be happy?" _Shouldn't I?_No. No, it was wrong. He didn't trust Alfred. Was it because he can't control him? No. That couldn't be the reason. Things he loves, he should be allowed to keep. But he couldn't keep Alfred. What did that mean? He was too mature for Alfred, too ready for commitment. Too open.

_Too much._

"Well I am not happy. So," He stopped, looked away, took a few deep breathes._In, in, in._ "So, I am leaving. Goodbye."

He woke up, drenched in a thin layer of sweat and feeling positively drained. He was not in the bathtub anymore. Instead, a dark, lifeless room.

Not his own.

"You up?" God no, god no!

"Did you kidnap me? I will call the police." Arthur tried to sit up, but his head hurt a bit, and his neck was cramped.

"What? Jeez, no. Your dad is downstairs. He's talkin' to my Ma 'bout callin' a doctor for you, thinks your social problems are getting worse. But I know it's more than that, isn't it?" Alfred wasn't looking for confirmation [_so I didn't give it_], his eyes were searching for regret.

"Well, I am here. We should work on our project." He subconsciously looked down at his stomach. He was sitting down, his least favourite position. His stomach was bunched up, folds of fat and guilt.

"Yeah, uhm, waddya wanna do for the presentation? I was thinkin' a documentary, so then we can go all Spielberg on it." Alfred laughed, it was nervous and scared.

"Sure, fine." Arthur stood up, only reaching up to Alfred's chin. Had he shrunk? Had the other grown? It felt so different, like they had missed so much. For a moment, Arthur wanted to reach out and touch Alfred. To feel his skin on his fingers, and soak up the nervousness with a smile. A real smile.

But he had self-control.

"Well, it's dinner time, you're invited to stay. Your dad is down there." A warning, as in,_you can't leave, so don't._

The steps groaned under the two boys- old and heavy. Stained with life, a bit of drinks spilt, a few coins in the crevices, dirt from shoes. It is nice and lived in. A real tree-stump house.

The dinner table was huge. Alfred and his mom sat on one side, Arthur and his father close to them even though there were plenty of empty seats.

Before his mom's divorce, Alfred lived in America with his brother. When it happened, one went to Canada, and Alfred went farther. Leaving behind a life only known to him as a small boy. So he looked back on it proudly, watched American television programmes, ate McDonald's religiously, and wore starred and striped boxers.

"Arthur, honey, haven't seen you in a while," she smiled, _warm, warm, warm._ Had Alfred told his mom? That'd be awkward.

But when she passed the salad bowl, it was caring, and so he could only assume that she didn't know. Didn't know anything.

Arthur chewed the salad slowly [_no dressing, 33 calories_], trying to avoid the oleaginous slice of pizza [_298 calories, too much_] and cheesy breadstick that was crunchy and golden brown [_210 calories without the blood red dipping sauce_]. He looked at his father's plate, and there was too much food. How greedy. His mouth moved to laugh as a joke was passed around the table, it was dried up and empty by the time it reached Arthur.

"Honey, don't you want some more?" Worry danced with confirmation in her eyes. Alfred glanced over and frowned, deep lines in his beautiful [_no self-control_] face.

"I am not feeling well," he lied smoothly, feeling guilty and full. That salad was too much, it was heavy. He didn't need it.

The stares moved off of him, and he continued to pick around his plate.

"So, what did you think about going on a trip this weekend?" Arthur's dad mentioned, looking curiously at Alfred, who looked confused.

"Oi, Arthur! You asked him, didn't you?" He felt his face heating up, turning into a bright red. _Save me, save me, save me. Earth, please swallow me up, God, I repent for my sins._

"Hah, yeah he asked. I forgot for a sec," Alfred saved him, giving Arthur a look of disapproval. But it's underhand and goes unnoticed by the adults.

"Forgot to mention it to me as well, mister." His mother pouted, but her blue eyes were twinkling so Arthur knew it was a joke. _Just a joke._

"Well, I'd love to go," Arthur waited for the "but". There wasn't one.

"Mhkay well, you boys take care. I'll come back tomorrow, Arthur, you're packed, right?" Arthur nodded, confused. _Just a joke._

"No sleaziness in my house, you two. I have to go out for a minute also," She warned. _Just a joke._

Alfred looked mortified, his face rivaling Arthur's. "_Mooom_, I'm almost an adult!"

She gave him a look. Not, the _look_, just a look. "No sleaziness." Then she stepped out, grabbing her light purse as she did so.

Arthur's dad followed, holding the door open for her in a manner only a gentleman would call innocent.

"God, who does she think I am?" Alfred grumbled, and then opened his mouth to bite off a huge chunk of pizza. Cheese was still attached and dangled from his lips, plump and shiny with grease.

It was silent for a bit while Alfred finished. Arthur had been done for a while, feeling great remorse. The salad sat bulky in his paunch, pushing him closer to the ground. He wanted to cry, to bleed, to die. _No self-control._

"Well, let's go do some outlining and shit," Warm, caring hands cleared the plates, throwing them into the dishwasher robotically, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

"Tell me something," Alfred turned, fingers drumming on the counter, "Why did you leave me?" The counter moaned - a metallic _tap, tap, tap_.

"I didn't leave you," wide eyes, protests rising in Alfred's throat like bile, "I only confirmed it."

"What the hell does that mean? I never left you." Arthur didn't respond, didn't feel like it.

"Okay, one more question."

A thick eyebrow was quirked, telling the other to go on.

"Why aren't you taking care of yourself? Why aren't you eating?"

"I am eating, I just ate right in front of you," Arthur countered, moving towards the door.

Alfred took a step closer, leaving the abused table top, placing his hands on Arthur's portly shoulders. He pushed down, and the Briton felt like crumbling.

"Some lettuce isn't eating, aren't you starving?"

"No, I have control. Now get off me, let's just work on our project, then I won't have to see you again." Alfred didn't complain. It was _just a joke,_ anyway. He didn't care.

They walked upstairs, Alfred first, grabbing Arthur's ample wrist to make sure he didn't dash away. In his room, he dug out a piece of paper and scrawled down sloppy, half-assed ideas. The atmosphere was thick, almost palpable.

Alfred was talking, but his peroration passed through Arthur's ears like water, clogging it up but meaning nothing. Arthur looked around the room, noticing slight changes. Alfred always had many pictures on his walls- posters, photographs, comic book cut outs, pages of his favourite books, funny notes. Now, they were unfamiliar. New movie trailers, smiling faces of people he barely knew, wished he didn't know. Kiku giving a small smile to the camera, Alfred's thumb blurring the lens. Notes written in neat, small handwriting, with i's dotted by tiny hearts. Signed _Lili_ with a smiley face. Something snapped and burnt in Arthur's chest.

"How have you been, Artie?" A sharp glare [_you have no right to call me that_]. Alfred was trying too hard. If he thought a smile could fix him, if some attention would end it, well, he was wrong. It wasn't a problem. Arthur was fine. He didn't respond. So, another shot was given.

"Look, I know you aren't eating, I don't know why you aren't. I know you're mad at me, I don't know why though. Tell me one of those things, please?" He considered it, yes, one thing won't hurt.

"Control," His drawl was bored, but his green eyes came alive with sparks of worry.

"Control what?"

Again, he considered. A part of him wanted to tell Alfred everything, to spill his guts and open himself. Modestly show what he is all about, what he struggles with. How proud he is, of what he endures, of the secrets he keeps. Yet, he was still 8 stone. _Too much._So he didn't answer. He left it open for interpretation. Take it or leave it.

"Thanks, thanks for sharing. Even if it's just a little bit," Alfred choked out, he seemed like he was about to cry, but of course not. No, he was too brave. He was an American.

Arthur nodded, grabbed the paper and made his changes, switching some ideas for scenes around.

"I'll fix you, ya know. I'll make ya happy again." It was spoken like a promise, but it couldn't be. No, it was just false words that meant nothing to him. He was probably thinking about Lili, wishing she was here.

"Are you dating Lili?" _No self-control._ Green eyes were wide in self-shock.

Alfred just laughed, "No way! She's just a friend." [_A bloody good friend._] Did he mean that, though?

"Are you jealous?" Alfred pushed too far, _too much_. Arthur clamped his mouth shut, not daring to breathe the wrong way.

A door was opened downstairs. Alfred's mom was back.

"Boys, come down and help with the groceries," She yelled. Arthur had always liked her. She made him feel so comfortable in their presence, even though he wasn't one of their own. He was a black sheep, but they all pretended to be colour-blind. It was nice, very nice.

"Come on, Artie," Alfred was dragging him down again, hopping down steps like they were playing leap frog. Any other day, Arthur would yell, call him an idiot [_or giant oaf_]. But today was not any other day, so he was silent.

There weren't many bags to deal with, just one trip out into the open air. It was dark out, and Arthur realised he'd be sleeping here. **I'll come back tomorrow.**His dad had promised. Guaranteed. So, he would have to come back. Then he'd go on a trip somewhere with Alfred, and then it would be over. He wouldn't have to talk to him again. Wouldn't have to sit at his dinner table and pick at a plate.

The bags were plastic and filled with temptation. Chocolate cake mix [_205, gross. Appetite- gone._], containers of ice cream [_130, too much_], hearty, pre-packaged sandwiches wrapped in opaque cellophane [_535 calories, enough for a lifetime_].

"Wastin' daylight, Artie. Come inside," He listened, for once, and joined the other in the kitchen to put things where they belonged.

"Jeez, Mom. What is all this delicious food for? Are you bribing me?" A grin was stretched so wide on the eager boy's face, it looked fragile.

"No, just haven't had two growing boys in my house and hadn't needed more food," She hummed, and then went upstairs to get ready for bed. It was late.

"Dude, you can't resist this," A box of chocolate chip cookies was waved in front of him, the smell seeping through the thin container. Arthur's stomach lurched. But didn't growl. So he didn't need it.

"I'm fine, thank you very much."

"B-but, it's so _good_," Alfred whined, not used to Arthur not folding after a few minutes. Not used to the cut conversations and the hate in his green eyes. It was sad what they had become, but wants get pushed aside in order to achieve. Arthur would kill to be thin again, to be in love again. And for a moment, it looked in reach. But he didn't let it fool him. He_knew, knew, knew._

"I love you, don't you remember?" Alfred looked so sad. Like his words were transparent now, and Arthur could see the truth.

"Just because you're worried about me doesn't mean you need to lie. It's insult to injury." The stare was hot as he turned around, digging into his skin, clawing off his cover- his protective bubble. He walked into the room, read the notes, the posters, the emotions in the pictures. A few remained of Alfred and him.

One when they were just kids, Arthur and his signature scowl, his hand gripping Alfred's so tightly it's patriotic- _white fingers, red knuckles, blue veins- pop, popping._In the next, they were older. Not wiser, just longer faces and legs. Arthur was smiling into Alfred's shoulder, sniffing the warm, brown leather jacket that was much too large. Alfred's hands wrapped around the small frame. A hug.

The last few were more recent, Arthur could tell by his full, _fat_ face smirking. At a beach, a few freckles enhancing the pale face. _Sparkling, shining green eyes._Another one, framed in gold. Arthur smiling- rare- into the camera, carefree as he sat on Alfred's back, declaring victory. "Don't you miss it?" It was startling. When had Alfred slipped into the room? So unnoticed. He wanted to scream, tell him to get out, let him enjoy the memories in private. He didn't.

_Self-control._

"Yes, I do miss it. Somehow." A smile to show that he was fine, but he knew tears were leaking out of his eyes like a rusty, broken, _rotund_ faucet. Maybe Alfred wouldn't notice. If there was a time to be polite and impersonal, it was now.

Of course, Alfred didn't understand what that meant. His thumb brushed against the raw, _chubby_ cheeks. Wiping up the liquid. Drinking in the pained eyes.

This time it was soft, and asked for forgiveness.

A _slow, slow, slow_kiss. Tingles in his stomach, not daggers. It felt so nice that it hurt. "I-I suppose I love you still." Arthur whispered, the sounds muffling into Alfred's neck, where his head was resting. Alfred nodded, understanding only a little. He didn't understand why the tears were still falling, staining his skin like blood. The kiss moved lower, nibbling on a jaw bone, hidden by blubbery skin. Arthur ran his fingers over sun-kissed skin, feeling so lucky. He pinched the ticklish spots, a laugh blooming from the quiet, intimate ambience. Alfred, in return, tried to remove clothing. But Arthur shook his head slowly. The shirt stayed on, he was still eight stone.

"Don't leave me again, Arthur," Full name, it must mean something, then. It must be love, it had to be.

He couldn't leave, at least, not right now. He was too wrapped up in the feeling. _Not in control_. Not wanting to be.

"I won't, not ever." He at least knew that wasn't true, though. _Just a joke._

* * *

The sun woke them up, tangled into each other like real lovers. Clothes still on. No sleaziness had occurred. Arthur felt warm, so warm. And happy, too. He got up before Alfred. Slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth with a short and _stout_ finger slicked with minty toothpaste. Brushed down his hair with his hands, still burning from the touches he received last night. Finished, he slid back into the bed, resting his chin on Alfred's folded arms. Snuggling closer.

_Tell Alfred- no breakfast. Keep your mouth closed- toast [32 calories], no crust, small amount of nutella [30 calories for just a dab, still too much], glass of milk [122 calories of white, silky greed]._

It was tempting. He hadn't eaten that much for one meal in a long, long time. But he couldn't do that. Somehow, it felt like cheating. If Alfred asked, he'd answer. He'd hold his ground, though. He can be in love and be thin. He didn't have to choose just one. Things he loved, he should be allowed to keep.

Of course Alfred asked. First thing in morning, after slamming down on ten pieces of sizzling, pan fried bacon [_460 calories_] and four fluffy, thick pancakes the size of footballs dripping in black as sin syrup [_400 calories_]. Arthur's eyes looked warily into the pantry, the freezer, before settling on a glass of water, cool and guilt-free as it ran down his throat.

"So, why aren't you eating anymore?" Tactless, ugly words.

"I _am_ eating," Arthur insisted, "But, I am on a diet. I need to lose some weight." He admitted needlessly. Obviously anyone could tell. Alfred barked out a strained laugh.

"You're so friggin' thin already, you look like paper." Arthur didn't want to do it, but he did. His hands slowly grabbed the hem of his day-old shirt [_waistcoat discarded somewhere else]_and proved his point. Alfred's eyes expanded in disgust.

"See, my stomach is getting way too large, I have been so greedy." Arthur sighed.

"Dude! I can see your ribs, that's not healthy," Alfred pointed an accusing finger towards Arthur's _flabby_ body.

"What do you mean? You can barely see my hip bones, it's covered in... _fat_." The words seemed less powerful when he said them aloud. In fact, he felt downright childish, but Alfred was too freaked out to mind much.

"You aren't supposed to see your bones!" Arthur didn't understand. Alfred loved to steal looks at Lili, and she was so tiny her backbone nearly popped out each time she bent down. He needed to lose more. He still looked repulsive. _Eight stone._

"Yes, well, it's hardly your concern, now leave me be," If he cried again, he would lose all sense of self-preservation he hoped to retain. He would die from embarrassment, crumble to the ground like dust and sink to the bottom of the chocolate milk sea of temptation.

"Don't ya think this is a bit melodramatic? I thought only chicks cared about their weight." It was a joke, it had to be. Arthur wasn't being dramatic. He was just controlling his unhealthy urges. Being male _didn't_ mean being a barbarian.

"Well, my father is coming soon. Shouldn't you pack? And before you ask, I have no clue as to where he is taking us. But I assume it will be for only one night."

Alfred nodded, then dashed up the stairs, two steps at a time [_so childish_]. A moment later, he came back down with a huge yellow duffle bag.

"So, we're together again, right?" The tanned boy begged for confirmation as he wormed his fingers into Arthur's. They fit like an old pair of jeans, and it felt _so right, so right, so right._He couldn't find words, so he just moved his head and squeezed the long, thin digits that were wrapped around his short, _fat_ ones.

"Sweet, let's not fight ever again. That sucked balls." Arthur sighed, feeling relief and guilt wedge up in his chest. He had to ask. His mouth trembled; his lips were a broken record and stumbled over familiar words.

"D-do you t-think, I am, uhm, _overbearingfatuglyhorrible_?" It rushed out like word vomit, stinking up the room and leaving a vile taste in his mouth. Alfred took a moment to process the words, then a few more before he responded.

"No, I think you're perfect." He said with all seriousness about him. No hint of lying in his ocean eyes. But he had to be, of course. The words were swallowed slowly, the glass of water still cold in Arthur's hand. "But," Alfred went on, "I think you need some help. You can't just not eat." Alfred still didn't understand. This wasn't about food. It was about _looks, weight, self-esteem, control, control, control._

"Alfred, I eat what I want. I'm fine. Don't I look better this way?" He knew he did, he just wanted to hear Alfred say it. It's funny how he was already depending on him so much.

Their reunion happened so fast. One moment he was resisting Alfred perfectly, the next snogging him senselessly. But it was okay, because he learnt his lesson and now he could grow, expand over the borders of knowledge and carry the memory of what happened when you become greedy with him forever.

"No, you looked better when you had some meat on your bones, c'mon Artie, this is silly. Just eat," Alfred took a piece of bacon [ _only 42 calories, indulge, indulge, indulge_] and shoved it in Arthur's face.

"I really shouldn't." He could, he could eat it and be full. It looked so good, smelled better. Slow chews, savouring every bit. He could do it.

"Dude, this is one piece. I've devoured like, a million." He hadn't, just ten oily pieces dried off on a paper towel, trying to trap the grease in its multilayered skin.

"If I eat this, will you stop bothering me?" It smelt so nice, rich and meaty. Cooling off in Alfred's fingers, sagging a bit.

"Sure thing," A superstar smile, pulled back towards his ears, a _real shit-eating-grin._

So he did it, he snatched the bacon out of Alfred's hands. And took a bite, swallowing it quickly, because it was so nice. He finished it in one more bite. He licked his fingers, so _greedy, greedy, greedy._

"See, you needed that." Alfred grinned, and then Arthur burst into tears, falling down his cheeks like all the regret inside of him. He had to sit down, and the floor was welcoming, until his layers of fat pushed together and he felt even worse. Why couldn't he control himself? He was worthless and pathetic, his stomach hurt, it felt _too full. Too large. Too much._

It was worse a moment later, his body rejecting the large, unexpected intrusion of food. He felt filled to the brim, overflowing, stuffed to the back of his mind. He had no room to breathe, nor did he want to. It ached and smarted and Arthur had to let the tears pass through closed lids as he swallowed the pain. It was awful. _This was hell._

"Hey, what's wrong?" Alfred sunk to the ground, thumbing through the veil of tears, but they continued to come, hot tears of shame and overwhelming feelings of regret. Why did he do that? He had felt so good, standing with nothing but water and a handful of leafy greens in his body, but he gave in to the temptation. He cheated on himself.

"Arthur? Honey? Darlin'? It was just one piece, just one." He held him close, probably embarrassed at his _fat_ boyfriend. It was more than just one piece. It was 42 calories, purely superfluous.

"How am I ever going to get to seven stone now?" Arthur mumbled into the brown jacket his face was buried in. His nose was snotty and his eyes were red.

"Seven stone? That's..." Alfred did a quick calculation in his head [_he was never good with decimals anyways_]. "That is only, like, 88 pounds! You're going to kill yourself, Artie!" Alfred let go, disgusted by his overweight boyfriend_who wasn't even seven stone_ yet.

Arthur's father decided to knock on the door at that moment and with wide eyes, Alfred opened it.

"Good morning, sir. I'll go get my ma." Up the stairs, eager to get away from the revolting mass of fat and tears on the floor.

It was silent without the loud American boy, and Arthur was sure this was purgatory, worse than anything he'd ever endured before.

"Too early for tears, isn't it?" His father hummed, faux-casual. Arthur didn't reply, simply scowled and wiped the tears, embarrassment covering shame.

"Hey Mr. K, Ma wants to know when we'll be back." The steps creaked as the Joneses entered the room.

"I'll get you back before dark, just a short day trip. Care to join us, Andrea?" He looked at Alfred's mom, hopeful and worried.

"Sure, don't have much to do today," She ignored the tale tell red puffy eyes on Arthur's face as she smiled at him, asking for his approval. _I don't care if you and my dad shag._He sniffled, wiped at his eyes again and stood up.

"I shall go change, one moment please." This time, it was different in Alfred's room. He tried to see if any of his old clothes were still in the room, hidden under mattresses or in dark closets. He found an old shirt, forgotten in a night of promiscuity and_love, love, love._He slipped on borrowed pants, hoping Alfred wouldn't mind. They hung off his hips, so he took a belt as well, tightening it to the last hole, feeling a bit of satisfaction in that.

Arthur hurried downstairs, eager to get the day over with. Dealing with Alfred was one thing [_even if we are back together again, it's still hard to keep prying eyes off of him_] but dealing with his father in public was a particular type of torture he didn't frequently divulge in.

They were waiting for him in the car, the yellow duffle not needed. **Back before dark.**A promise. The meat felt rotten in his stomach and the bumps and turns of the car made him feel sicker. He thought of today's challenge. Eat nothing, no matter what. It excited him, for if he could do that, then all would be fine, the bacon acquitted for the fact he had been so strong for the rest of the day. Then, he could fall asleep in his own bed with Alfred on his mind. How nice.

"Hey, you seem thoughtful today," Alfred murmured, tangling their hands together in the backseat. Yes, well, he was.

"Why do you like me?" Arthur revealed, showing a bit of himself in a rare, honest moment. Alfred just smiled, pleased it was something so simple.

"Why do stars shine?" Arthur didn't understand, his eyebrows creased together comically.

"Because they have rather large fusion reactors in their cores, which releases tremendous amounts of energy." A low, confused chuckle erupted from the sunny blond, as he gazed lovingly into green eyes, as if they were the most exciting thing in the world.

"Stop staring at me, it's worrying." So they sat in a stubborn silence, not saying anything because quick squeezes and fingers grazing over palms said enough.

The day was spent at an amusement park, a playful surprise. Separating from the adults only after tickets were purchased, Alfred convinced the other to stand in a ridiculously long line for a very short, very fast ride. It wasn't so bad, Arthur's hair was mussed by the wind, but his eyes glittered for the first time in a long time, and his stomach growled deliciously, and all was fine.

It ended with fireworks in the grass, curled into each other as the sky became dark. Andrea and Arthur's father had yet to be found, but maybe that was because they weren't really looking. A sudden explosion of colours collected a cheer from the crowd, lovers and brothers and mothers all stretched out in the safe web of green weeds. They kissed for the finale, grinning as laughs burst through the group, happy screams from the daredevils on the rollercoasters, and playful shrieks that were everywhere, covering them like surround sound.

Arthur Kirkland felt beautifully in control and euphorically in love with both Alfred and Ana(*).

* * *

They left the park late, drunk on happiness and life. Stopping at a fast food restaurant, Arthur let out a standard excuse, "I'm not feeling very hungry." Alfred saw through it, and frowned.

"He'll take some chicken nuggets an' fries, with a large strawberry shake- _don't argue, you love 'em-_ and one of those apple pies," His order was given for him in an obnoxiously American accent. No, that was too much. He didn't want to hold the white paper bag, to smell the horrible scents and be forced to consume the calories and fat he didn't need. He didn't want to.

"That is clearly too much, I'll have some tea when I am home, now quit nagging." Arthur's father didn't know what to do, and said nothing, driving up to pay for the order. The unwanted meal purchased.

The tension was thick, and Arthur shot glares at Alfred the whole way home, and he just smiled because he didn't understand that Arthur _couldn't_ eat that. That if he did, he'd _die_. That it was a special poison just for him.

"Try the drink, Arthur," His father offered input, but that was too much, [_616 calories, do not indulge, do not lift chapped lips to the slick white straw, do not breathe_].

"I'd rather not, please just focus on the road." More dead silence. Alfred nibbled on his fries, not daring to interrupt the father and son showdown that was blooming like weeds and ruining the picturesque day.

"I would focus on the road more if I knew you weren't trying to kill yourself. Look, I gave you a nice day, now just eat the damn food," It was strangely calm- _eye of the storm, about to get worse_- but still calm.

"Showing a little control isn't deadly. In fact, I suggest you attempt it, you aren't getting any younger and your beer gut is just growing more noticeable." Arthur was fuming, not even considering his guests, spinning away like gravity had just left him, _no control, no control, no control._

"Arthur-" Rugged, painful breaths, _control, control, control._ "We'll talk about this in private."

Alfred's hand retreated to his pocket, curling in and digging around. Arthur focused his glare on him. If only he hadn't ordered the ridiculous food, then all would be fine.

The rest of the ride was silent, all the way until their guests were dropped home and the milkshake was melted and runny and the fries were hard and cold and the nuggets had a thin layer of frozen lard on them. How appetising [_such a shame I hadn't put that in my body_].

"What do you have to say for yourself?" The question hung in the air, the white bag forgotten in the car; it wasn't the real issue now.

"That I'm going to bed, thanks for the fun day." A barely concealed sneer, the day had been too long. The way upstairs was familiar and nice. He ignored his dad's protests, and closed the door. His phone buzzed; Alfred.

He didn't answer, just tossed it to the ground and slid out of the pants that weren't his, undoing the belt and zipper unnecessarily. His stomach didn't growl, nor did his eyes water. He completed the challenge and went to check the scale.

It was a bit nerve-racking to walk down the hall, facing his worst enemy head on like so. The scale was a bright grey and glistened as the light was switched on. The noise was gone, his father was gone; his weight wasn't. Slow steps brought him closer, and with hazy eyes he stepped on. _Seven stone and a few pounds._Almost there. Progress. The mirror still laughed at him, his arms were still flabby, his legs jiggled when they walked. Was it enough? Maybe not, but those few pounds could mean life or death. He'd be invincible and beautiful at 7 stone flat. And it was easy to reach, easy to keep up. He didn't have to eat; water and honey dew drips of tea were fine. They were perfect.

Arthur wanted to skip back to his room, but was silent in avoidance of family members, and crawled into bed, clutching his phone, waiting for another call to ignore.

Right before he drifted off, his fingers vibrated and glowed. Arthur disregarded it for a chance to dream.

And this time it was a dream. Either that or a vision of some idyllic future, but it left a sweet taste in his mouth so he didn't mind too much.

At first, everything was dark. Pale moonlight seeped in through opened windows, and illuminated the caring face of his lover. "Arthur-Arthur, you're breathtaking." And he was, sharp cheeks and hip bones that you could feel. His belly was just a flat line- _turn and you'll miss it._His wrists were slim, and the bones slightly protruded the silky flesh. Nimble fingers gripped the head board tightly, his body shivering as blankets and sheets wrapped around their waists, saving this from the category of _nocturnal emission_. Moans, lots of them, though. Quick whispers of _Iloveyou_ and _youareperfect_ filled the gaps.

The bed moved a little, shaking under the weight and fast movements, sweaty boys breathed _in, in, in_. The sheets twisted around them, defying gravity but incasing their love. It ended quickly, and Arthur woke up feeling hot all over and very dramatic.

He waited for the feeling to pass, but it didn't, so he unlocked his phone [_sometimes it was too smart for even him_] and read his messages from Alfred.

**sorry bout the thing w ur dad :3**

**u rnt mad right? :s**

**heeeeeey.**

**r u asleep?**

**okey dokey then :/ see ya tommorroww**

Arthur very much enjoyed reading those, feeling loved and looked over. He knew he couldn't go back to sleep, so decided to go down to the basement and put the treadmill to use. It wasn't used often, forgotten like an old friend, but when it was, it left him feeling _so good._

It was Sunday morning, just barely, the clock starts anew, and all is quiet. This was when the cravings began. First, it was just a picture. A cold bowl of cottage cheese, slick in his mouth and wet on his tongue. Then, it was a scone, warm from the oven served with a cup of steaming Earl Grey, little wisps of heat sprouting from the top.

Arthur Kirkland's stomach did not grumble, no, he was not hungry. Just _empty, empty, empty._ Empty and longing for something to fill him up. A soft hand, a polite kiss, two heaping bowls of Fettuccine Alfredo [_800 calories_], spilling over the sides and burning in his hands. He killed it right then and there. Filled the emptiness with control and resolved to never thinking about it again.

Two years later, it happened. Arthur, reading a book, sighing the post-coitus sigh. Alfred was somewhere to his side, tracing worried circles on his thighs. They don't talk about it. Both noticed, but they let it be spoken with looks instead of words. They still argue, laugh, kiss. Everything was fine, and Alfred realised some battles have to be fought yourself. Arthur realised some weren't battles, just wicked trails laced with poison berries that left you feeling so good.

It was hard, very hard to get off of the path he set out on so long ago. To get to the clearing you must overcome guilt and shame. Those are things the Briton didn't want to deal with anymore, so he walked down the path and hoped to be greeted by the blinding sun when it is all over.

Being older didn't change much, except now they both attended university, Alfred cashiering at a coffee shop to buy the bills and Arthur helping out at the library to grieve and smell old books. They talked about going away, far away when they're done with this. To Alfred, that meant New York, to Arthur it meant London.

Still, after all that time, not much had changed. But... the struggle had ended. Now it was just a firm dominance over himself that he was afraid to let go of. Like closing your eyes for too long in the dark, and now opening them seemed impossible because of the fear of what you might see. Of what you might not see. So Arthur kept his eyes closed and guided himself with hands and words and pleas.

The cool finger stopped tracing the snowy white skin and Arthur set down his book.

"What is it, love?" He was only mildly interested, the thin papers of the novel distracting him.

"It ain't nothin', just thinkin'," Alfred lied. He was still looking into green eyes, pleased that they were shiny and bright again, even if distracted and sleepy.

"Well, hopefully that'll do you some good." The book was picked up again, and set down moments later to slip under covers.

"Kill the lights, would you?" Darkness came, cool and relaxing. Another sigh.

"Quit with the sighing, you're breakin' my heart, sweetie." Alfred's words were mumbled, wrapped in blankets and sheets. It was almost as though he was a kid hiding from the monster under his bed.

"Then stop hogging the sheets," Arthur nagged. It was meaningless, they both knew how things would end in the morning. Arthur tucked away under Alfred, who was strewn over the bed, his legs dangling off both edges. Arthur secretly liked it. And on some mornings, when he didn't immediately sit up and push Alfred off of the bed on to the cold carpet, he'd slip out, brush his teeth, and curl in again to enjoy the warm hold.

It was nice not to always be in control, to hand the reins to someone else. But he still needed to remind himself that he could be left again. He could be alone, and so he'd have to be able to handle the reins just as nicely. To manage without guidance.

Arthur Kirkland was very classy. He could smile and lie just like the best of them. But he also drew lines on himself and on others and stuck to those as religiously as he could. Every gentleman should know control and order.

"Oh, ya know you love it," Alfred murmured, then started to drift.

When he was sure the blue eyes were closed and resting, he turned to face him, looking at the dashingly young and handsome face. He couldn't resist. This wasn't about control, _it was love._ Arthur crumpled into Alfred, holding him_so tight, so tight, so tight_- stuck together with cum and devotion. He felt his almost flat skin pressed against the tan, bare abs of his lover. _Six stone was within reach._

**_The End._******

* * *

AN (*) Ana is a nickname for Anorexia, Mia belongs to bulimics.

Thank you all so much for the reviews/favourites/alerts. They literally mean the world to me, and I'm so glad I you've read my story. I really wanted to end on a happier note, but things like that don't go away so easily, most people who have it now will suffer with it/have negative thoughts about eating for the rest of their lives.******_If you have any questions or want to talk to someone or have some good ole' internet support, feel free to PM me, as I like to read and I like to help :)_**

So, once again, thanks, and another story should be out sometime before the end of the month :) It's a hospice one. Hopefully I'll see you all there.

Beta'd by RamenNoodlesXD and Semebay, any remaining mistakes are entirely my own fault.


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